


81 percent

by SadCalad



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 23:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17837831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadCalad/pseuds/SadCalad
Summary: His knee cracked during semifinals when he went for a dig. In complete shock as he collapsed, Oikawa felt his world being flipped upside down, turned 180 degrees just as he saw it from the floor of the court.





	81 percent

**Author's Note:**

> Coincidently, two of my close friends have underwent knee surgery in the past few months, and I wish them full recovery. Meanwhile, these incidents have led me to think about Oikawa, and how people say an early injury means an early end to one's athletic life, so this fic happened. Not much angst because I can't bear it, so simply enjoy the lovely relationship of these two.
> 
> This is my first time writing. Feel free to leave comments, I'd greatly appreciate them :)

His knee cracked during semifinals when he went for a dig. In complete shock as he collapsed, Oikawa felt his world being flipped upside down, turned 180 degrees just as he saw it from the floor of the court.  
  
He originally planned on just lying there, sinking into the ground and disappearing from the world altogether. But Iwa-chan wasn’t having it. He made the point clear by screaming in Oikawa’s ear and telling him to ‘get his shit together’. Curious thing, Oikawa wondered while being hauled up like a goddamned potato sack, Iwa-chan was up on the stands just a minute ago.  
  
Every sway in Iwa-chan’s step drove a spear into his kneecap. It hurt. It really, really hurt.  
  
He was carried to the infirmary to be placed on a cot that was too small and too narrow for his lanky body. Then he was handled with gentle presses and movements that were so soft and so delicate, it scared him. “The pillow’s too flat,” he complained quietly because he still could, and Iwa-chan moved over to sit on the mattress.  
  
The cot rattled from the extra weight, but Oikawa felt he was the one on the edge of falling apart. Until Iwa-chan lifted his clammy head to rest it on his lap. A pillow. Oikawa wasn’t sure what he thought about that.  
  
“Shut up, Trash-kawa, you’re gonna be fine,” he scowled, but he was brushing soaked strands away from Oikawa’s forehead. When he was done he put his palm over Oikawa’s wide, frantic eyes. It trembled. Oikawa dreaded.  
  
And through the sound of his own erratic heartbeat, he listened to Iwa-chan’s pulse thrumming way too fast against his temple. Somewhere in the room people were hurrying to call his mom and the hospital. Then from further away, came the sound of rubber shoe soles against the court floor. So Iwa-chan, oh sweet, overly-caring Iwa-chan, of course he knew Oikawa was hearing too much, _thinking too much_ , he uncovered his eyes to cover his ears. His palms were squishing his cheeks.  
  
It didn’t take long for him to be swapped from the cot to the ambulance, and straight onto the operating table, where the surgical lamp blinded him like the lights of the volleyball court did, the last time he saw them from his place on the floor.  
  
Unconsciousness slowly dripped into his veins. He felt something touch his knee.  
  
When he woke, the first thing he saw were the swollen red eyes of his mother, leading him to contemplate his whole leg in a cast, strung high like some sort of sickly roast. Then he noticed Iwaizumi asleep in a chair opposite his bed, quiet but with his mouth opened wide enough to swallow a volleyball.  
  
Volleyball.  
  
“Honey, it’s going to be okay, don’t you worry about a thing…” His mother tightened her grip on his hand. He lost himself in another anesthesia-induced slumber while she whispered words of comfort to him that sounded choked on their own.

Oikawa dreamt that he was spiking, which felt foreign in a way that was not so much unfamiliarity as apprehension. Sure enough, the ground beneath him was hollow and it let him fall. He was not prepared for the impact of reaching the bottom, and he felt his leg snap.  
  
It sounded oddly like him breaking apart a pair of chopsticks, in the tiny ramen place not far from his childhood neighborhood. Iwaizumi had been startled by the sound a thousand times, and never stopped marvelling at how Oikawa could do that _so damned loud_. “Itadakimasu!” Oikawa would ignore him completely that way, burying himself in the bowl right away and leaving Iwaizumi to huff by his side.  
  
The sound was loud and echoing, but he wasn’t by his side now. Nor was anyone.  
  
In a sudden his calf muscles tightened on their own, convulsed and cramped but kept on tightening, until the pain was enough for him gasp and sob. Oikawa screamed into the dark.  
  


* * *

  
  
He woke damp with sweat, and turned to see Iwa-chan at his bedside, clumsily peeling an apple. The total, 180-degree kind of turn from nightmare to reality left him in a daze. He could only stare.  
  
“You’re awake,” Iwa-chan said dumbly, “That’s good. They said you’d probably be awake by now, but you were restless for a while, and then I heard you talking in your sleep, something about ramen and I thought anything that has to do with ramen can’t be that bad…”  
  
A slice of apple skin dropped from his fingers and landed with a ‘plop’ in the trashcan, and they both stared in silence.  
  
“Apple. You want…? I was just,” Iwaizumi mumbled.  
  
_Iwa-chan’s babbling_ , Oikawa thought. _It’s kinda cute._  
  
“Okay,” He croaked, his throat dry.  
  
Iwa-chan ended up slicing the apple up in chunks, because apparently Oikawa couldn’t even hold a damn apple in this state. He watched in complete horror as the apple occasionally slipped or the knife went sideways, dangerously close to the fingers that were clutching the fruit. It was a relief that nothing human was hacked off, and when Iwa-chan fed him the first small chunk Oikawa had to smile.  
  
“I’ve decided,” Oikawa declared, munching happily, “You’re really good at this, Iwa-chan, I appoint you to slice apples for me in the future.”  
  
“In your dreams, maybe,” Iwa-chan retorted without looking up, his hands busying on the apple, and Oikawa grinned.  
  
Yet once his thoughts got caught in the slurries of the future he could not pull back. He remembered the contract he signed not many months ago with the national team, the additional athletic scholarship he’s been applying for, the league and that sort of things, and before he knew he was swallowing the suddenly dry and bitter bite, and tears ran down his cheeks for the first time since he fell.  
  
Now Oikawa knew Iwa-chan responded badly to his tears, always. He would knock his head if they were whining tears, yell back at him if they were angry tears aimed at him during fights, and stand awkwardly beside him if they were upset tears, so generally Oikawa cried and Iwa-chan waited until everything was in control and it was time to hand him the tissues.  
  
But this did’t feel like it was going to get better on its own. Ever, even.  
  
Iwaizumi froze by the hospital bed with half an apple gripped in his hand, watching as Oikawa deteriorated and the waterlocks broke down. But he did’t say words Oikawa usually hated, like “Be optimistic!” or  “Don’t be stupid, Dumb-kawa!”.  
  
“There’s still Kageyama on the team, and you know how that orange chibi’s like with him, they’re gonna do fine in the league.” Iwa-chan looked calmly into his eyes as Oikawa sobbed in surprise, to make sure every word entered his useless, stubborn ears. “Sure, it suck not to be able to play volleyball—wait, shit, we don’t know that yet, forget about that—the point is, it’d suck even more if you just give up on everything, because you can’t do this one single thing anymore.”  
  
Oikawa's nose was filled with snot. Maybe his brains were too. “Eh?” He hiccuped.  
  
“Did snot run into your brains? You’re such an idiot, ” Iwaizumi glared at the apple and carried on before Oikawa could feel offended.  
  
“Remember how you gave up the degree program at Waseda for volleyball? You know, after highschool?” He waited patiently for Oikawa to follow, “Well, I’ve got a spare room in Tokyo. If you want to.”  
  
Well, Oikawa was completely oblivious by being a whimpering mess, so Iwaizumi had to cough and rephrase.  
  
“You could apply for Waseda again and come live with me in Tokyo?” He was flushed from the awkwardness when he finished.  
  
Oikawa was dumbfounded. He sniffed his nose with force. “What?”  
  
“… You should forget this conversation already, I actually think you’d be too dumb to be considered by Waseda.”  
  
“Mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replied weakly, “But Iwa-chan, no more volleyball, with you anymore…”  
  
“You idiot, ” Iwaizumi shut him up in a low voice, “It has nothing to do with volleyball. Just… just stay in the range where I can yell at you whenever you’re unbearable.”  
  
At first Oikawa trembled at the prospect of being yelled at. Then, as he slowly came to realize what they mean, he raised his puffy eyes, stunned.  
  
He gazed fondly at the person looking back at him, with an apple in his hand, the one who’s put up with him and stayed by him for almost twenty years…  
  
…And started to cry even harder.  
  
 “What in the… How even?” Iwa-chan was at a loss, reaching his hand out before dropping them in a fluster, and started to stammer. “It doesn’t even make sense, this shouldn’t be upsetting, I guess? Should I…?”  
  
Oikawa laughed as he cried.  
  
His knee might be damned, he didn’t care, not anymore. Warmth spread from the centre of his chest to become bright and glowing and absolutely impossible to ignore, until he felt filled, full to the brim with a powerful sentiment that threatened to overflow. His heart ached from longing, and belonging. It hurt beautifully with every breath.  
  
“Alright Iwa-chan, ” he managed a smile, “I’ll stay within your yelling-range.”  
  
All this feeling, these moments, all this time spent with him, how can this ever be enough? But it was already too much. It was burning, and he felt so deliriously happy that he was drowning in warmth and content.  
  
Iwaizumi was slicing the apple almost furiously, the corners of his eyes tinged red. And this touched Oikawa so much, it sent him into another fit of hiccuping sobs. So Iwaizumi furiously stuffed more apple into Oikawa’s mouth to muffle his whimpers.  
  
He felt…  
   
_It already felt too much. But how can this ever be enough?_  
  
They both know the things that can’t be solved by words. Hospitalization and rehab. The team, contracts, and school-entrance exams. Papers and moving in and out. And… And _this_ that ties the two of them and pulls at them both…  
  
Yet Oikawa was lying in bed in hospital, wearing a blue gown that smelled of disinfectant; he had already exploited a meniscus and part cruciate ligament until smashed and ruptured; and he felt he could take anything that may come his way, just because Iwa-chan was right by his side, willing to slice apples for him, willing to do anything with him.  
  
Oikawa would admit, volleyball made up 90 percent of his life. When he collapsed, Oikawa felt his world being flipped upside down, turned 180 degrees just as he saw it from the floor, and nothing would ever be right again. But Iwaizumi hauled him up, and turned the broken world right back again.  
  
That was when he realized. Iwaizumi carried 90 percent the weight of what was special, in that 90 percent of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> “Nine nines is eighty-one, Dumb-kawa, you could have said eighty.”
> 
> “Awwww, Iwa-chan is soooooo not romantic! You’ll never win someone’s heart this way!”
> 
> “Why would I want to win someone’s heart anyway? You’re already a handful. ”
> 
> “Hey! No, wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”
> 
> “It means you’re pathetic. Now do your leg stretches and I really will punch you if you don’t shut up.”
> 
> “Tsundere Iwa-chan…Ow! So mean!”


End file.
